


make cake not war

by swishandflick



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Baking, Canon Compliant, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Probably AU because I don't think they bake this much, Very fluffy, or at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:23:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22275280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swishandflick/pseuds/swishandflick
Summary: "What's your favorite flavor of cake?"Or, five times Lovett baked things (for Ronan), and one time Ronan (with assistance) made him a cake.
Relationships: Ronan Farrow/Jon Lovett
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73





	make cake not war

**Author's Note:**

> My only inspiration for this was watching the Yule log video twenty times. Very very loose "what if Lovett bakes things for Ronan but didn't realize he was actually baking for Ronan?" fic. It's very silly, very fluffy, mostly plot-less, and probably very OOC because the oven is the biggest clock in Jon Lovett's house.
> 
> Please keep it secret and keep it safe. 
> 
> Unbeta'ed, so all typos are mine and mine only. None of the recipes alluded to here are mine but are things I've baked in the past. Always remember to preheat the oven, folks.

1.  
“Now I am supposed to pour eight ounces of Mountain Dew on top, but I really think Diet Coke will work the same way. Who the fuck still buys Mountain Dew?” 

Lovett’s digging through his refrigerator, phone balanced precariously against one shoulder so he can hear Ronan laugh. He can also picture the expression that must be on Ronan’s face right now, his eyes all crinkled up due to his weird, _lovely_, heckling laugh. Lovett misses him so much he wants to reach through the phone and pull Ronan to him.

“I think it’ll taste like Coke then, Jonathan. Not all the lime lemony goodness of Mountain Dew.” 

Lovett rolls his eyes. Ah, there’s two cans of plain Coke that Jon had left behind. That should do.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Jonathan,'' Jon hears Ronan say. He also hears rapid typing in the background.

“Are you emailing your secret love-errrrr?” he drones, and then sings the next two lines of Lover for good measure. Ronan’s wheezing with laughter, and Lovett feels it settle in his chest as warmly as when Ronan looks into his eyes late at night in their bed and says sappy bullshit that Lovett totally is not endeared by. He empties a can of Coke on the baking tray, wrinkling his nose at the tray full of brown water with...floating bits of the butter that he used to grease the pan. Yikes. He quickly takes a picture.

He cuts off Ronan talking about Cruel Summer and how he’s heard it played aloud on the subway every day this past week. “Look at the picture I sent you-does this look right? If I put the apples in it’s definitely going to make a fucking mess.”

He hears Ronan try not to laugh. “It does look like a _lot_ of liquid, Jonathan. Is it supposed to have the full eight ounces?But I bet it’s fun to drop apples in a blanket in it.”

“For the last time, they’re not called apples in a blank-” Jon cuts off at the knock on the door. “Hang on, that must be the rolls.”

“Tell Jon I said hi, I gotta go call Rick now and then shower before my flight. Love you Jonathan, send me pictures of how it looks.”

Lovett smiles as he goes to open the door. He can hear Pundit and Leo scratching at the door, and then a bark. That must be Leo. “I love you too baby!” 

He hears Ronan laughing as he hangs up. The smile on his own face widens as he sees Jon Favreau holding both their dogs in his enormous arms, a grocery bag swinging from his elbow. Both of the dogs then pounce on Lovett, who immediately crumbles on the floor, mainly to maintain the level of drama that is expected of him. He has a brand to uphold.

“Ow, Ow, , I know I am your favorite parent but you need to get off of me and take your sister with you so I can finish making this masterpiece.”

“Emily’s going to murder you for saying that”, Jon says, bending to pull Leo away from Lovett. “Pundo, come here if you want a treat.” Lovett hears the pointed clicks of the dogs’ feet on the wooden floor as they follow Jon to the mudroom. He reaches for the grocery bag. Maybe if he gets this thing into the oven in the next twenty minutes he can call Ronan back on his way to the airport, he thinks absently. 

He stares at the rolls. “What.”

“What what?” Jon says, coming up behind him, sniggering. 

“Where are the rolls?” 

Jon stares at him, and then morphs his ridiculous face to look confused and looks pointedly at the bag of rolls Lovett’s holding.

“No”, Lovett says, clearly. “These are dinner rolls.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Jon asks, bemused.

“NO”, Lovett shrieks. “Jon, you moron! I want to bake these! I need to- need to put apple slices in them like pigs in a blanket! And then put them in the oven! How am I supposed to bake rolls that are already baked?”

Jon has the grace to look a bit sheepish. Lovett knows it won’t last for too long. “Maybe you just poke a hole and put the apple in it?” He is smirking at the end of that sentence, like he knows Lovett will jump on it. Which- Lovett’s definitely, _most definitely_ not going to right now. 

“Going past your dirty mind for now- Jooon!” he whines, pulling his phone out. “What the fuck are these called- crescent rolls!” he yells, walking into the kitchen, useless bag of rolls still clutched in his hand.

Jon rolls his eyes and follows him. “Okay, you definitely did not tell me they were called crescent rolls.”

“You were supposed to infer! How was I supposed to know a man who worked for President Obama would buy me dinner rolls to bake apple dumplings!” Lovett’s sweating a bit now. Okay, he can go get the proper rolls, and then still have just enough time to assemble and bake them before the party. Maybe Hanna will tell him a helpful shortcut if he calls her now.

“I am supposed to assemble them before pouring the mountain dew!” he wails, stopping dead as he reads on his phone. Jon runs into him, balancing himself by clutching Lovett around the shoulder. 

“That’s also not mountain dew” he unhelpfully points.

Jon is the fucking worst. 

“You are the fucking worst”, he says. “And you don’t have any room to be pedantic, mister dinner rolls.”

“We’ll fix it”, Jon says, mimicking pushing his sleeves up as he steps up to the counter. “Yes we can, Lovett.” He’s such a fucking dweeb, looking all golden and earnest in the afternoon sunlight, batting his eyelashes. Lovett really hates him, yes he does.

“I am calling Hanna.”

\---  
In the end, Hanna sends Tommy by with emergency crescent rolls, Jon helps Lovett roll apple slices in them, looking like he was enjoying himself way too much. Tommy conveniently disappears the whole time to go play with the dogs like he doesn’t see them every day, Lovett complains about the blind leading the blind as he and Jon drop apples in a blanket (fuck you Ronan) in the coke-butter pool. _Okay, it’s fun_. Emily laughs and laughs when they tell her about the rolls and Lovett threatens to sue people who complain about the dumplings tasting too much like Coke. _They’re fine._ At least ten people said so. And one person said they’d made it with Mountain Dew but the Coke version tasted better. Lovett tries not to sound too smug when he tells Ronan later.

xxxxx

2.  
“You were so hot today,” Ronan pants, shoving Lovett against the door the second it closes behind them. He’s nipping at Lovett’s neck as he shoves his sweater up his torso, his hand coming to circle his right nipple. 

Lovett hisses out. “Just today?” he manages. It’s been years, but he’s still amazed by how Ronan can make him go breathless with want within seconds of getting his hands on him. 

“All the fucking time, do you know how hard it is to take you anywhere? To look at how everyone looks at you and love you, _god_ Jonathan, you’re so good, I love you so much.” Ronan finishes this by pulling Lovett’s sweater off and bending to get his mouth on his nipples.

Lovett lets out a wail, bringing a hand up to hold Ronan’s head in place. “We should- we should take this to the bedroom before anyone gets back,” he gets out.

Ronan shudders and looks up, dropping a kiss on Lovett’s mouth. “Don’t mention our family when we are about to have sex, Jonathan.”

Lovett’s heart skips a beat, even though he’s heard it multiple times now. _Our family. Ours. Yours and mine. _

Ronan’s smiling at him gently. His face looks unbearably fond. Lovett wants to kiss him all over his fond face. He does, so they stand there swaying in the doorway and trading kisses for a while.

“Let’s go upstairs”, Ronan mutters, stealing another kiss before taking Lovett’s arm and leading him towards the stairwell. The old house creaks in welcome as they walk through it; it’s warm and toasty, making Lovett feel content and loved. 

“I still can’t believe how good that log was,” he says, swinging Ronan’s arm back and forth as they ascend the stairs. 

“I always knew it would be great,” Ronan says, parroting the line he’s been throwing out in encouragement since Lovett opened up YouTube to look up recipes. Lovett’s about to protest that he’s seen the instagram stories, but decides to let it slide as Ronan draws their swinging hands up to press a kiss to Lovett’s hand.

“I’ll have you know my mentions are all about your instagram story,” Lovett says, as they reach their room, Ronan’s childhood bedroom. He can’t help but picture baby Ronan whenever he’s in the farm, running around his pet cows, doing his homework, reading his books. Lovett wishes they could’ve met when they were kids.

“Of course they are,” Ronan mutters, pushing the door open and drawing Lovett through it. He again proceeds to shove Lovett against the door as it closes, this time unbuttoning his pants and shoving it down his thighs.

“We left my sweater downstairs!”, Lovett whispers. “Should we get it now or in an hour before they come home?”

Ronan scoffs. “Wishful thinking Jonathan, but I am not going to last twenty minutes and neither are you. It’s been four days.” He palms Lovett’s hard cock through his briefs as if to prove his point.

“We can do slow later then, when we get back to LA,” Lovett says, still feeling that childish glee that he gets to take Ronan with him this time, keep him for a few more days. He doesn’t have to do long hugs at Hartford, and then go to LA and bury his feelings in Emily and Jon’s company and in the Postmates they always keep ready when Lovett comes back by himself.

“We can get out the fancy handcuffs then,” Ronan says, _finally_ shoving Lovett’s briefs down and wrapping a hand around his cock. “We can take all our time. I am going to lay you out and handcuff you, eat you out and make you come just from that.” 

Lovett moans,incredibly turned on at Ronan’s words and at his hand lazily jerking him off. He already feels close, it’s always a dangerous side effect of being teased for days by just being in Ronan’s presence. “Okay, but now fuck me, _please._”

“Okay, but can I kiss you for ten of those twenty minutes?” Ronan mumbles, pressing little kisses to Lovett’s mouth. “You’re such a good kisser, I always get so close just by making out with you. Plus I miss kissing you the most when we skype.”

Lovett’s heart aches. He loves this man _so much._ “Of course,” he mutters, pressing his lips to Ronan’s.

\---

They end up making out for eight minutes, fucking frantically for fifteen, and then lie curled on the bed wrapped completely around each other, trading lazy kisses. They walk down holding hands when they hear the cars in the driveway, quickly pull on Lovett’s sweater, and serve everyone second helpings of the Buche de noel that Evangelline still won’t touch. Mia announces to everyone that Lovett will be on family dessert duty for all gatherings from now on, much to Lovett’s dismay and Ronan’s amusement.

xxxxx

3.  
“Did you preheat the oven” Emily asks, touching the side of it. “Lovett-you didn’t!” She turns up the dials on the oven and then glares at him. Lovett can see the smile that’s teasing the edges of her lips. 

“Marco Rubio,” Jon starts, walking into the kitchen, not looking up from his iPad. Emily cuts in. “Nope, nope, no work talk. We’re baking cookies! You both promised you’ll shut up about politics.” 

“Marco Rubio is the reason I forgot to preheat the oven, Emily.” It’s worth a try.

Emily rolls her eyes, swatting Jon’s hand away from the counter from where he’s been sneaking cookie batter into his mouth from the tray. “There’s no universe where you’d remembered to turn the oven on, Lovett.” 

“So this goes in for, what, thirty minutes?” Lovett says, looking over Emily’s shoulder at her laptop. “Do I have time to take our children out?”

“You put it in, I’ll take the dogs.” Emily says, grabbing her phone and keys off the counter. “I’ve to change anyway before we go- babe do you need to change?” She looks around at Jon, who’s still got his face buried in his iPad. “What am I saying, yes you do. Lovett, no yellow pants!” she yells as she strides out of the kitchen, stopping to kiss Jon. Lovett can hear her call out to Leo and Pundit.

“Hang on, I should wait until it’s preheated right?” Lovett says absently. Maybe if he used his oven more it would work better. Just like Congress. Ha. He turns to share this half decent joke with Jon, who is good for his ego because he reacts like every joke is Lovett’s best joke. Jon, however, is looking at the baking tray, a tiny frown on his face.

“What,” Lovett says, “what, what’s wrong, do they taste weird?” He double and triple-checked that he was adding sugar and not salt, like that one time with Ronan. Granted, he was distracted because Ronan kept kissing his neck. “Of course they do, you ate like two cookies worth of batter, didn’t you? There’s a reason we bake them, Jon.” 

Jon clears his throat and says tightly, “My throat’s all scratchy and tingly.” And then, “What’s in them?”

“They’re just spiced sugar cookies,” Lovett says, now mildly starting to panic. “There’s also, we added a bunch of different spices, cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, there’s also ground almonds-”

“I am allergic to nutmeg!” Jon exclaims,his eyes wide. “Shit!” 

“What,” Lovett shrieks. “Emily didn’t tell me-who the fuck is allergic to nutmeg?”

“I don’t think she knows? We never bake cookies- and I never get spiced stuff.” 

“You’re the worst,” Lovett yells, “Who doesn’t tell their wife whom they’ve been with for nine years about their fucking nut allergy?” He looks around wildly for his keys. “If you die Tommy is going to murder me. Forget him, Emily and I will bring you back to life and kill you again.” He grabs his keys from the dining table. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Jon asks politely, clearing his throat again. _Fuck_, Lovett was going to punch Jon in the face.

“The Emergency room!” he screams, grabbing Jon’s hand.

“Lovett, I’ll be fine-it’s not a severe allergy. I just need some wate-”

Lovett turns and glares at him. Taking a deep breath, he says “I will call Emily right now, and if you come with me to the ER I will call her after we see the doctor so you can decide when you want to get yelled at.”

Jon acquiesces, grumbling, and intertwines his hand with Lovett’s as they walk out. “But you’re still going to yell at me right? And I am not going to _die_.”

Lovett rolls his eyes as they separate at the car. “Are you a doctor? Then shut up.” Jon looks like he’s about to say something, or cough again. It was hard to say.

“And I am never going to stop yelling at you.” he continues, inserting the key into the ignition. “Fucking _nutmeg_.”

\---

They are late to Shomik’s house because Emily and Lovett make Jon write down every one of his known allergies while the cookies bake. This time, everyone at their little party tells Lovett the cookies are great. "At least you’re not dead," Emily says as Jon drives them home, her mouth full of cookie. Jon’s been glaring balefully at them in the rearview mirror, complaining the whole time about not being able to have any of the cookies. Lovett and Emily stole a few cookies in her purse for the ride home. Lovett calls Ronan and then hangs up on him when he proclaims that nutmeg isn’t actually a nut. It’s a great night. 

xxxxx

4.  
“What’s your favorite flavor of cake?” 

Ronan looks up from where he’s got his head pillowed on Lovett’s chest, scrolling through his phone. 

“Hmm..I like citrus.”

Lovett resists rolling his eyes. _With great difficulty_. “Okay, but there’s many citrus-citri? Citruses? What’s the plural of citrus? Anyway, there’s many citrus flavors? Do you have a preference?” He finger combs Ronan’s hair off his face. His hair is incredibly soft, especially on the days he steals Lovett’s curls shampoo.

“It’s citruses, and I like lemon. But you don’t have to bake me a birthday cake, Jonathan. We’ll get one from Patty’s.”

“Who said I am baking you anything?” Lovett teases, watching as Ronan pouts.

“You’re not baking me anything for my birthday? What could be more important than that in December, Jonathan?”

“I thought you just said I didn’t have to make you anything,” Lovett says, tugging at Ronan’s shoulders until he obliges and moves up to press a kiss to Lovett’s nose.

“Emily just said you’ve been soliciting her opinion on cake recipes,” Ronan announces smugly, settling over Lovett. 

“Okay, no investigative journalist hat on in the house, please,” Lovett says, tugging on Ronan’s ear. 

Ronan doesn’t say anything but kisses Lovett warmly again, cupping his face gently. His partner had the best fucking mouth in the whole world, so Lovett spends quite a bit of his lifetime lost in kissing his lush mouth. No. No. His _fiancé _ had the best fucking mouth in the world. Lovett moans at the thought.

Ronan looks up at him questioningly. “I just- I just like that you’re my fiancé now,” Lovett whispers, leaning up to steal another kiss, and then immediately turning to bury his face in the pillow, his face warming. 

Ronan melts against him, literally, Lovett feels his body slag against his as if he’d suddenly become boneless. “I really like being your fiancé too, Jonathan. It does a lot to me.” He presses his hips against Lovett’s.

“Will you like being my husband too?” Lovett isn’t sure where all of this is coming from,but it is proof of how much he knows Ronan that he anticipates the _whine_ from his mouth. Ronan’s cock feels like steel against Lovett’s thigh.

“God, I am-I’m going to love it _so_ much, I can’t wait-I can’t wait to go around and say that you’re my husband.” Ronan’s rubbing himself off against Lovett, who turns his body to get in on the action fully.

“Yeah? You’re going to go on your book tour and talk about your husband?” 

They’re rubbing against each other through briefs getting increasingly more wet with precum, Ronan groaning into Lovett’s mouth. “I’ll talk about how my husband bakes me things. The Jacques Cousteau of the relationship.”

Lovett draws away, laughing at the inside joke. “Okay, I’ve literally only baked like, three times in my life.” 

Ronan mock glares at him knowingly. “One, it’s definitely been more than three times, and two, don’t think I haven’t noticed how all those times have been with me or right before I land in LA.”  
His face softens into a grin. “You like baking me things.”

Lovett wants to say something funny. “I just like feeding your weird taste buds, don’t get too excited now.” Okay, that was not as funny as he was aiming for. “I also like making you things and you always look so happy when I do and I like making you happy.”

Okay, that was the farthest away from funny that Lovett knows, and he kind of wants to bury his probably tomato red face in the pillow again, but it’s worth it for the way Ronan’s looking at him now, all happy and glowing. He’s the most beautiful person in the world, and Lovett will tell him a million sappy things if it gets Ronan to look like that.

\---

Ronan laughs and laughs as Lovett pulls out the tupperware from his carry-on at arrivals in JFK, and then beams as he cracks the lid open. “Lemon bars,” Lovett says, “they’re more a summer thing I think, but since you asked for _citruses_-” Ronan cuts him off by pulling him into a kiss, right there in the middle of ten thousand people walking past them. Lovett’s pretty sure they’re going to get yelled at in three seconds, but he’ll take that for Ronan.

xxxxx

5.  
“Fuck! Fuck! I fucking hate baking! Tommy!” Lovett knows he’s whining, but maybe Tommy will take pity on him and cut up the brownies nicely.

Tommy walks in, predictably rolling his eyes and armed with an insult. “Jesus, Lovett, isn’t the cutting and serving the easiest part of this?” 

Lovett glares at him balefully. “No,” he sniffs. “Whoever said that is a moron.”

Tommy lets out one of his high-pitched laughs, his head thrown back. “I am pretty sure that was Jon, anyway, if you chill this thing it’s supposed to be easier to get clean edges, that’s what my mom always does.”

“Okay, there’s ten minutes before we absolutely _have_ to leave, so there’s no time to put anything in the freezer.” Maybe Lovett should ask everyone to come to his place for movie night. 

“Should we ask the Favreaus to come here? We can postmates here as well as there.”

Tommy smirks. “Ronan will go wherever you are, Lovett, so if it’s easier for dessert to do the movie here we’ll do it here.”

“Shut up, you’re the _worst_, Tommy! I didn’t even mention Ronan!” Lovett says, banging the tray of uncut brownie on the counter slightly. Maybe if the crumbs from his earlier jagged attempts at cutting spill out, he can do damage control.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t bake just when he’s here, Jon.” Tommy says, smiling. “I’ve known you over a decade and you’ve only been baking since Ronan’s come into his sweet tooth.”

“Come into his-people don’t come into their sweet tooth, Tommy! He’s not seven! Now open the freezer and make some room for this tray please.” Lovett says, donning his mitts on. 

Tommy rolls his eyes and looks up from his texting, and Lovett resists pointing out that soon his eyes _will_ get stuck that way. 

“That really won’t be a hardship,” he hears Tommy muttering as he walks to the refrigerator. “Well, your husband’s got weird tastes, man. Didn’t he eat cheddar slices dipped in honey every morning when he was finishing up his first book? And Emily said they’ll get here in fifteen, and my mom says to chill the knife too so it’s easier to cut.”

“Don’t call my husband weird- wait, he’s not my husband yet. My fiancé.” Lovett blushes. “That’s what I meant. You tricked me.” 

Tommy’s looking at him all squinty eyed and smiley. Lovett _really_ wants to lightly punch his smirky face. “Get used to it, Lovett. Now when’s Ronan getting here? You should text him about the change of plans.”

\---

The knife slides through the brownie like butter when Lovett cuts them at the end of dinner. Tommy makes his twelfth edibles joke of the night so Lovett promises him they’ll do the fun stuff next time. Ronan hugs him tight when he steps through the door, only letting him go to scoop Pundit and Leo up as they come bounding towards them to investigate the arrival. 

No one says anything when Lovett slips into Ronan’s lap and feeds him a brownie when they’re watching the Irishman. They probably also saw him kissing the chocolate off of Ronan’s mouth. Whatever. They’ve seen worse.

xxxxx

+1  
“Should we wake him up?” Lovett can hear Hanna whisper as he rounds into the kitchen. “Here, now squeeze, _gently_! Yeah, that’s good. That’s perfect.” 

“Em, can you go wake Jonathan up?” he hears Ronan call out, bent over something on the counter with Hanna, both donned in frilly, cutesy aprons. 

“Are you guys making porn? I can join in, let me change into my apron though.” Lovet calls out, making both of them jump.

Hanna laughs as she spots him. “You’d look good in that, Lovett.” Ronan’s let out a soft curse.  
Lovett rubs his eyes with the back of his head and walks up to him.

On the counter is a magnificent cake. It’s mango, Lovett knows, because-

“Do you like it?” he hears Ronan say, “I just messed up this icing a bit when you came in, but I remembered how much you liked that mango mousse cake we had in that Asian bakery next to your place in DC.”

The cake is a piece of work, with slices of kiwi and strawberry arranged artfully on one end, and juicy mango slices on the other. Lovett’s mouth waters just looking at it.

“That was when we first met-you-you _made_ this?” He stares at Ronan, who is beaming at him. He’s not sure why his throat feels like it’s too big over a cake. “_And_ you’ve been letting me bake all this while when _you’re_ the Jacques Cousteau of the household?”

Ronan laughs and turns back to the cake, piping bag in hand. “We all did-Hanna and Emily and I did the groundwork, but Tommy and Jon chopped the fruit and made the mango puree. They’ve taken the dogs out now, and said they’ll come back with wine.”

“You got Jon to _cook_ voluntarily?” Lovett shrieks. He can hear Emily laughing from the living room. 

“Bake, Jonathan. Cooking requires a completely different set of-” 

“Stop it, you pedant.” Lovett murmurs, shoving Ronan as gently as he could when he’s apparently focusing all his razor-sharp attention on delicately piping icing on the cake.  
He holds Ronan’s hips in place and stands quietly. Hanna drops a kiss on his cheek as she walks out of the kitchen, untying her apron. He can hear her join Emily on the couch, their low, happy voices adding to the warm feeling taking over his chest.

“Ta-da!” Ronan says, stepping aside and drawing Lovett into him sideways.

Lovett smiles at the “Happy birthday Jonathan” as he turns in Ronan’s arms. If he doesn’t kiss him right now, he’s probably going to combust.

“Thank you,” he murmurs against Ronan’s lips. “I love my cake.”

“You’re welcome.” Ronan’s pressing lingering kisses all over Lovett’s face. “Now is that all you love, Jonathan?” 

Lovett can’t even help the smile that breaks out on his face. He just-he’s just so in love he wants to scream sometimes. This is his life. He really gets to have this. “The cake’s great, but I love my husband.” 

Ronan pulls him into another lengthy kiss and smiles. “I love my husband too. Now, cake. That must be the bros with the wine.”

\---  
Lovett’s selfish, but it’s his birthday, so he’s got two giant slices that’s at least a third of the cake on his plate. It’s long past since the others have left, exchanging hugs and kisses and largely unnecessary ruffles of Lovett’s curls. He’s now sat back against Ronan’s chest on their bed, Pundit curled at their intertwined feet. Ronan’s reading and stealing bites of cake, also stealing kisses from Lovett every five minutes. “We should quit everything else and open a bakery,” Lovett mumbles. Ronan laughs and tightens his hands around Lovett’s waist. They bicker about bakery names as the night steadily envelops them, moonlight glinting off of the rings on their joined hands.

\--fin--

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this silly fic, and thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think, your comments and kudos are much appreciated! :) Come say hi on tumblr: https://tenisperfection.tumblr.com/


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